


Go Softly

by Starrla89



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domesticity, Fluff, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Retirementlock, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrla89/pseuds/Starrla89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Tucked into their giant armchair together, in the small cottage in Sussex, John was quiet as he rested his head on Sherlock. “Do you believe in an afterlife?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go Softly

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet is dedicated to **anchors** , who made me aware of Retirement!lock. Thanks to her reccs, I have a new favorite trope. And speaking of Anchors, you should all go read her fic, especially her marvelous Johnlock AU, “A Moment’s Surrender.” 
> 
> I also owe a debt to the incomparable **penumbra** , whose Johnlock art really inspired me to want to start writing in this ‘verse. The Sherlock fic world is terrifying to me, as I am an average writer at best, and this fandom is filled with truly magnificent authors.
> 
> Finally, a huge thank you also to my dear friend, **iamsuchaleo** , who graciously agreed to beta this for me. Even the shortest ficlet is lucky to have her thoughtful feedback.

There were times he didn't think they would make it even five years. Not because they didn't love each other. No, that particular question had been well sorted right at the start. After dancing around each other for two years, they had finally gotten it through their respective thick skulls that all they were doing was wasting time All the usual awkwardness of a new relationship just didn't apply to them.

No, the reason John wasn't always the most optimistic was because of the lives they led - Sherlock running headlong into every danger, and John right behind. So the fact that they were going on forty years together was astonishing. Unbelievable, really. Somebody up there must love them, because John could name a dozen times when one or both of them should have not made it to another day.

Tucked into their giant armchair together, in the small cottage in Sussex, John was quiet as he rested his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Do you believe in an afterlife?”

Sherlock looked up from his tablet, pushing his glasses up onto his head. “What?”

“We’ve never really talked about this. Do you believe that there is something else after this, or are we just dead?”

Sherlock’s mouth actually dropped open, making John smile fondly at him. “Ah, I have rendered the great Sherlock Holmes speechless. Hang on, let me write this down for posterity. Maybe revive the old blog for one last post.”

“John, what on Earth has gotten into you? Why would you ask that?”

“Oh, I know that look! Now don’t get upset, I’m just curious. I need to know whether or not to expect you.”

“Expect me where?”

John decided to put Sherlock out of the misery so clearly etched into his face. “Look, all I’m saying is that we were given this utterly mad, supremely undeserved gift of _forty years together._ Forty, Sherlock! Tell me we shouldn't have died a hundred times over already. And now it looks like we’re just going to die of plain old, boring _old age._ I don’t care who you are, that’s funny. So I’m asking you, do you believe in an afterlife? Because I sure as shit want to keep doing this with you, no matter where we are. And the thought of dying and then…that’s it? Sorry, I can’t live with that. So I’m asking you: do you believe in an afterlife?”

Sherlock stared at John. He looked at the beloved face next to him, with all its fine lines and adventures and near-death experiences etched there, and he felt a wave of love wash over him so strongly he almost couldn't breathe. This man, John Watson, this man who had followed him into every imaginable scenario, who made sure that Sherlock ate and slept properly, this man who had loved him with every ounce of himself, unconditionally, for over forty years – he couldn't possibly think that something so _ordinary_ as death would end their relationship.

Sherlock tightened his arm around John’s shoulders. “You,” he said, “are completely mad. Have you forgotten the ridiculous set of circumstances that brought us together? What were the odds that I would meet the one person in the whole world whom I could stand to be around? That you were in London at the same time as I was? That you were invalided back to England at that precise time? You think all those things happened by accident? Because I don’t. And I certainly don’t think something as mundane as death will keep us apart. Don’t be an idiot.” He leaned down and kissed John with the ease of a lifetime of practice, then turned back to his tablet, the conversation clearly over on his end.

John sat stunned for a second, then burst out laughing. “All right, then. Afterlife it is.” He burrowed into Sherlock’s side a little tighter, feeling his warmth seep into his old bones, drawing Sherlock’s love around him against the encroaching night.


End file.
